Wanderings: La Barranca

San Ildefonso Tultepéc, Querétaro -- Every time I go back to La Barranca, I have a different kind of experience. I teach at a summer school in this pueblo, where, on my time off I sometimes walk down the barranca, Spanish for a ravine or small canyon, to relax and explore.

One July day I took an afternoon hike here with two fellow volunteer teachers, my friends Yulma and Antonietta, who hadn't been before. We walked down a side street in the pueblo, passing little stores and a group of men drinking beer and pulque, to where the corn fields begin, only a block or so from the highway. What looks like the results of simple erosion, tiny rivulets that can be stepped over, quickly deepens as the terrain suddenly drops. We walked and slid down a steep but passable crevice in the rock, and in moments found ourselves in a different environment, completely hidden from the houses of the pueblo just a couple of minutes' walk away.

Cactus, maguey and other plants adapted to arid lands loom over the rim of the barranca above our heads, while around us on the damp bottom, water flows even in parched weather. Ferns and moss luxuriate in the shade of verdant trees, which keep the temperatures noticeably cooler than in the dusty, sun-baked open spaces above. In places, water seeping out of overhanging cliff faces drips in a perpetual shower onto hikers passing below. Dark algae contrasts with orange and lime-green lichens that grow in the microenvironments of shaded rock faces. There are many organisms living here that are not seen just a short distance away, straight up.

As we descend, the high cliff walls spread apart and the view expands. Here the floor receives more sun, beginning a slow transition back to the drier state of the environment outside of the barranca. As we mount a trail that hugs the right side of the widening gorge, suddenly a yawning, black cavern, overhung by the cliffs, comes into view. Under this roof we enter an ancient potters' workshop. The cavern is stacked with hundreds of half-finished clay comales, flat platter-like utensils used for heating tortillas over a fire.

I once met an elderly man working here. He digs his own clay from the walls of the cavern, hauls water from the stream below to moisten the clay to the right consistency, and forms his comales on the dusty floor of the cavern. When the clay has dried out, he then fires the ware in a rock kiln, using brushwood he has cut in the nearby forest. This man hauls the finished products on his back, up the narrow trails to the rim of the gorge and back to the highway. I've often wondered how many generations of local clay artisans preceded him. The thick accumulation of discarded, time-worn pottery shards on the paths approaching this place indicates to me that people have worked here for a very long time.

Although the scenery is beautiful, I usually find the most interesting things to be the small or unexpected. I have seen at least three species of hummingbirds in this place. The wildflowers are fabulous. I've noticed evidence nearby -- scatterings of artifacts -- of an ancient settlement. 

On several occasions over the years I've been startled as I suddenly find myself looking into the dark faces of solemn, silent Otomí women as we cross paths, I with my high tech daypack, bottled water and digital camera, they with their herd animals, dogs, many children and enormous bundles of firewood. The realities of our different worlds brush past each other for a moment, but just barely intersect. In the evening I will be in a dry, clean, cozy house, uploading photos online in order to write my blog post. They return to the laborious and sometimes grim business of survival.

Antonietta, Yulma and I had a meeting of this type, although we'd heard a dog barking down the path so weren't completely surprised when a pair of indigenous women appeared as we rested in the shade. After glancing furtively our way they looked at the ground as they walked silently, which is normal behavior unless the stranger says something first in greeting. I think Yulma spoke, wishing them a good afternoon, to which they replied in kind, in accented Spanish, "buenas tardes." To my surprise, they slowed and made further eye contact. Perhaps this was because, accompanied by these women I was no longer the lone, foreign male on their path. I'm not sure.

The women took a breather as they shifted their loads. The older one who was in the lead did not smile, but her expression softened as she looked at us. After a few seconds, she tilted her head up and directed her gaze ahead, as if to say, "goodbye, we've got to get on with it," and they started up the steep trail.

Jack O' Lanterns

I posted this one year ago. Because I was just beginning this blog, it had virtually no readers at that point. So here it is again, in observance of the season.

Three years ago on a weekend off from teaching in the summer course at San Ildefonso Tultepéc, in the state of Querétaro, I took a hike on the outskirts of a tiny nearby pueblo named El Cuisillo. It's located close to the border between Mexico and Querétaro states. That makes it about equidistant from the towns of Amealco, Querétaro and Aculco, Mexico, along a two-lane highway that in two or three hours takes you, if you flag down and jump aboard one of the dusty buses that occasionally passes by, from this very small place to the world's largest metropolis.

The people of El Cuisillo are very shy but friendly. In keeping with that spirit, it is an unpretentiously scenic walk along roads and paths through their land. From hilltops you can glimpse distant rock formations, ravines and cliffs, and the occasional small house with cornfield, or perhaps far away a small child with a stick trying to goad a slow-moving cow out to pasture. There are some interesting pre-hispanic ruins in the area. The ruins are just there. There is no visitor center with bored security guard, you'll fend off no vendors selling fake artifacts and bottled water, and you need not heed any "do not climb" signs nor thoughtfully consider pedantic interpretive plaques of dubious interest. There is no one else around; you can enjoy the quiet and imagine yourself the explorer.

For some reason here, I suppose it's the stillness of the air and the rock formations reflecting sound waves, once in awhile I mysteriously hear clear voices and laughter but see no people. Perhaps they are hiding in the bushes and watching this strange foreigner smiling and whistling to himself, writing in a little book and taking pictures of things that seem to them very ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, as many acquaintances of mine in Barrow, Alaska will attest, the "little people" do exist, and maybe they live here, too. It certainly seems like a place they would appreciate. It may be a mystery I will never solve, and I like that. I've walked in the vicinity many times over the years and always find something new to do or see. It's a place I have visited with others, but mostly I like to wander here alone.

Many of the families in the region are indigenous Otomí, like these boys, and live a subsistence way of life near the poverty line. Besides keeping some animals and planting a small garden and milpa, or cornfield, some families make fired-clay products to produce cash income. The area produces a lot of these ceramics, such as pots, planters, platters, small replica churches and houses, sun plaques and other decorative, kitchen and garden items. Apparently someone in the area realized that with well in excess of 20 million persons living within a couple of hour's drive, there might be a market for jack o' lanterns. It seems like every clay workshop produces them. Halloween is not a tradition in Mexico, but some families do observe the day.

When I passed by their house the boys ran up to the road with arms full of "calabazas," or

pumpkins, for sale. I purchased two at the asking price of about a dollar each. I managed somehow to get them back to Mérida in my luggage without breakage. They have served me well now for three Halloweens. I have yet to receive a trick-or-treater at my door, but if one comes, I am ready.

Happy Halloween.

Crafts: The Dollmaker

One sunny, comfortable July afternoon about eight years ago I was helping my friend Katharine Collins shoot a video segment for a documentary about the Otomí culture in San Ildefonso Tultepéc, in Mexico's Querétaro state. That day I met the subject of our interview, an Otomí woman I know only as Doña Isidra. I have been stopping by to visit her from time to time ever since.

I suspect that Isidra could be at least 80 years old, but it is hard to tell, as is often the case with old people who live in the country, have worked hard since childhood, and remain energetic into their seventh, eighth or ninth decades of life. It is trite to say that the face of an old person, especially an indigenous one, is leathery and lined, but that's the best way to describe Isidra. Her hair remains startlingly black. Her colorful traditional Otomí clothing and stylized hair braids exactly match those of the cloth-faced straw dolls she carefully makes and sells to help support her family.

A few weeks ago on a day identical to the one on which I first met Doña Isidra, I was in her neighborhood with a couple of friends who are interested in traditional handicrafts, and decided to drop in for a visit. We were in luck; she was home. After saying hello I commented to Isidra that she had been so busy the past couple of summers that I had missed her when I stopped by. She chuckled, yes, she'd been busy, and usually goes to Mexico City in July, participating in the annual pilgrimage to La Basílica de Guadalupe there each summer. That means that this diminutive elderly woman throws a bedroll and a few other things in a bag or wraps them in her shawl (I somehow don't see her wearing a backpack) and as an act of religious devotion goes out of the door of her rural house and walks from there somewhat more than 100 kilometers, or more than 70 miles, to attend mass.

Around here, such a walk is not a big deal. During the month of July, thousands of pilgrims, or peregrinos, pass through San Ildefonso on their way to Mexico City on the same mission. Isidra simply waits until a group of women pilgrims comes along on the highway near her house, and joins in. Life in the hilly, rugged countryside where she has lived all her life, has kept Isidra in training.

We told Isidra that we were interested in buying dolls and embroidery, and she brought out a couple bags of work. The embroidered designs, which feature stylized flowers, maguey plants and birds, have been handed down by the Otomí through the generations. The embroidery is used on the women's own clothing, and on clothing, napkins, tablecloths and other handmade items that are made for sale.

As we selected embroidered napkins, servilletas, and dolls for possible purchase, I asked Isidra how much she was charging for the dolls these days. She looked off in the distance and talked for awhile about how prices for materials had gone up, and I prepared myself for a huge price jump, when she quoted a price of thirty pesos each, which is less that two and half U.S. dollars at the time of this writing. I believe that when I first purchased some dolls from Isidra eight years ago, the price was twenty pesos each. Considering the time that has passed and the fact that prices of everything have gone up, the dolls are still a fabulous deal. We bought the four dolls she had, and a few embroidered servilletas.

I asked Isidra if I could take a picture of her with the dolls I had just purchased. As she composed herself, her faint smile changed into a formal, serious line, and she

squinted a bit in the bright sun. I was impressed by how much the dolls resembled their maker. Nowadays these same types of dolls often are seen in the city with round cheeks, bright plastic eyes and happy V-shaped smiles applied to their faces, the traditional design made "cute," an apparent marketing ploy, better to appeal to tourists. But Isidra's dolls are the real thing. Just like their maker.

For more information on the documentary "More Than Dolls," by Katharine Collins, visit this web site:

http://www.wyoptv.org/programming/morethandolls/

Jack O' Lanterns

Three years ago on a weekend off from teaching in the summer course at San Ildefonso Tultepéc, in the state of Querétaro, I took a hike on the outskirts of a tiny nearby pueblo named El Cuisillo. It's located close to the border between Mexico and Querétaro states. That makes it about equidistant from the towns of Amealco, Querétaro and Aculco, Mexico, along a two-lane highway that in two or three hours takes you, if you flag down and jump aboard one of the dusty buses that occasionally passes by, from this very small place to the world's largest metropolis.

The people of El Cuisillo are very shy but friendly. In keeping with that spirit, it is an unpretentiously scenic walk along roads and paths through their land. From hilltops you can glimpse distant rock formations, ravines and cliffs, and the occasional small house with cornfield, or perhaps far away a small child with a stick trying to goad a slow-moving cow out to pasture. There are some interesting pre-hispanic ruins in the area. The ruins are just there. There is no visitor center with bored security guard, you'll fend off no vendors selling fake artifacts and bottled water, and you need not heed any "do not climb" signs nor thoughtfully consider pedantic interpretive plaques of dubious interest. There is no one else around; you can enjoy the quiet and imagine yourself the explorer.

For some reason here, I suppose it's the stillness of the air and the rock formations reflecting sound waves, once in awhile I mysteriously hear clear voices and laughter but see no people. Perhaps they are hiding in the bushes and watching this strange foreigner smiling and whistling to himself, writing in a little book and taking pictures of things that seem to them very ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, as many acquaintances of mine in Barrow, Alaska will attest, the "little people" do exist, and maybe they live here, too. It certainly seems like a place they would appreciate. It may be a mystery I will never solve, and I like that. I've walked in the vicinity many times over the years and always find something new to do or see. It's a place I have visited with others, but mostly I like to wander here alone.

Many of the families in the region are indigenous Otomí, like these boys, and live a subsistence way of life near the poverty line. Besides keeping some animals and planting a small garden and milpa, or cornfield, some families make fired-clay products to produce cash income. The area produces a lot of these ceramics, such as pots, planters, platters, small replica churches and houses, sun plaques and other decorative, kitchen and garden items. Apparently someone in the area realized that with well in excess of 20 million persons living within a couple of hour's drive, there might be a market for jack o' lanterns. It seems like every clay workshop produces them. Halloween is not a tradition in Mexico, but some families do observe the day.

When I passed by their house the boys ran up to the road with arms full of "calabazas," or

pumpkins, for sale. I purchased two at the asking price of about a dollar each. I managed somehow to get them back to Mérida in my luggage without breakage. They have served me well now for three Halloweens. I have yet to receive a trick-or-treater at my door, but if one comes, I am ready.

Happy Halloween.